


Hear the calling

by Kay245



Series: Heat of wolves, ruts of dragons [1]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Cousin Incest, F/M, angst to the brim, but they think they are sibling still, cinnamon roll Jon, not really a happy ending (but there will be a happy ending at some point)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-03
Updated: 2017-11-12
Packaged: 2019-01-29 03:02:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12621684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kay245/pseuds/Kay245
Summary: Takes place just after Sansa's meeting with Baelish in Mole's town and before the war council. Jon comes upon Sansa as she's still suffering from her wounds and tries to help her. Unbeknownst to them Melisandre has been plotting a dangerous scheme to make sure that the prince that was promised regains his will to live.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, so I'm not sure any of this is good, but well let's see how it goes.
> 
> For the first time, I dabble into AU stuff and of course I would go for the ABO trope. But as I just can't help myself, I tweaked it a bit. So here is some information about the ABO.
> 
> ABO in this story is a secondary gender (like being a man or woman). It's an hereditary characteristic mostly inherited by descendants of First Men (Andals don't have that characteristic and as such the population can be either alpha, omega, beta or just average human).  
> The secondary genders display at puberty (or later on, it depends on the individual) in a presentation of an inclination:  
> \- Omegas: they are infertile until presentation and have heats, the only time they are fertile (a boon during Winter when resources are low and risks of death in childbirth increase drastically). Their bodies are also extremely resilient (and are able to stand the knot/vagina dentata of an alpha during a rut). Their sense of smell is much better than the average human but it's their sense of touch that is the best. Omegas tend to have a calming effect on other genders.  
> \- Alphas: They are fertile when sharing a rut, a heat or a frenzy and those events tend to occur more often when another gender is mated with an alpha. Alphas have periodical ruts. When sharing a heat or a rut with an Omega, they have distinct physical manifestation of their status (not with beta, average human or alpha, though). They have a very heightened sense of smell that allows them to discern between mated and unmated people. Unmated alphas are very susceptible to an unmated omega but are also hardwired to want to protect the omega.  
> \- Betas: they sterile before they present but once they have presented they are fertile any time -like average humans - but are more fertile during frenzies. They have a very good sense of smell -almost as good as an alpha. They are quite susceptible to another's frenzies, ruts or heats.
> 
> Ruts, heats or frenzies is a state of high hormonal imbalance that would push one individual to seek sexual relationships. It doesn't negate the sense of right or wrong, but there is a bit of impairment when it comes to reason (meaning people know what they are doing but their sense of giving a fuck is greatly reduced). However, the hormonal aspect pushes the people experiencing them to look for a willing partner.
> 
> Mating is a kind of physiological bond that alphas, betas and omegas can make with another. It can only happen during a shared heat/rut/frenzy and involves an exchange of saliva and blood by the way of biting one another. It is considered as strong (or even stronger as it cannot be annulled) as a marriage. It occurs between any gender, regardless of supposed compatibility.  
> So to make it simple, A/B/O can have regular sex or share heats/ruts/frenzies without mating, just like normal people would have sex without being in love or be committed to a relationship. Mating is something more special, akin to a marriage, that includes a physiological and emotional bond and lasts for a lifetime.  
> Mated partners have a distinct scent that takes accents on one another's natural scent.
> 
> Well, here is a brief summary of what I have in mind regarding the ABO trope. I've consciously disregarded the "personality" aspects (submissiveness, aggressiveness,etc.) because they don't make much sense to me when it comes to "real" genders so I wouldn't use them there either. Omegas can be assertive, Alphas can be restrained, Betas can be aggressive, it has much more to do with the individual than anything else.
> 
> OK, so now, let's go into the story.

He heard a pitiful whimper from the other side of the door of the room called the wolf’s den. Near at the top of the Wall, an ancient almost abandoned room from the construction and as far away as from the Nightwatch’s barracks as could be, this was where he had put Sansa as soon as she arrived at Castle Black, not wanting the sight and presence of the battered omega to agitate his men. Already as she’d thrown herself into his arms, he’d seen the eyes of his fellow crows around him. Confused and worried eyes for some as the smell of blood and despair of the omega stirred their protective instincts but more alarming had been the hungry eyes of others that had reminded him that some of his brothers had committed foul crimes against women. His arms at the time had tightened against the beautiful woman that was his sister and a low growl had almost crawled out of his throat. Reflecting back on it at night, he’d told himself that the unconscious display of ownership - embracing her tightly to cover her in his scent and warning his brothers off with a low feral growl - had been nothing but a mere attempt at protection from an alpha kin. And it was still the same now, as he burst into the room to find the cause of the cry he’d heard.

 

Sansa was flushed and bent at the waist in a sharp angle as she braced an arm against the top of one of the chair next to the lit hearth. Her breaths were ragged as her other arm was curled tightly against her stomach. She lifted her eyes to his and he was alarmed to see her jaw tense with clenched teeth. He knew that his proud sister would never tell him the extent of her pain. However, his sharp alpha sense of smell allowed him to scent blood, either old and dried from her first days on the road or fresh from the still oozing wounds. He took a deep breath, ignoring the telltale furious glint in her eyes telling him that she knew what he was doing. _Clever pretty omega_ whispered a drowned voiced at the back of his mind. As he didn’t register any threatening wound, the old wounds mostly healed by now, he relaxed. Until he felt as much as saw a new wave of pain make Sansa double in two. That time, when she looked into his eyes, tendrils of hair plastered against her temple by sweat, all poise and reserve had left her face, leaving only desperation in their place.

 

“Please… please, Jon… It hurts…” she murmured brokenly before she crumbled to the door.

 

As instinct took over his mind, Jon jumped to the door, ran to the stairs and made his way to the ground floor then to Castle Black. In a few minutes, he found Melisandre, the red witch and stopped abruptly as his mind finally registered why he sought her out: she might have something to cure what was ailing his sister.

 

“ Sansa… She’s in pain… do you…” he started, only registering then how out of breath he was.

 

“Yes, yes...” replied the witch. Hadn’t he been so consumed by his instinct to help Sansa, maybe Jon would have reflected on the witch’s knowing smile or her too composed soothing tone. “I will give you something to ease her. But my Lord, she will need more, maybe you should…”

 

“Aye. Of course” he cut her as the instinctual need to get food and water became an undeniable impulse. “I will get some supplies and broth from the kitchen.” Before the witch could reply, he was gone.

 

On his way back from the kitchen, his arms full of fresh bread, preserves, hard cheese and honey, he only stopped up to Melisandre to take the small bundle of dried leaves and didn’t wait for Davos to reach them before he urged toward the stairs to Sansa’s room.

  
  


Davos was a bit taken aback but didn’t begrudge the young alpha his short behaviour. Afterall, even if he, himself, was only a beta, he’d been able to scent the pain of the young Stark since her arrival. It was only normal for kin, especially for an alpha with as fierce a need to protect as Jon Snow, to be shaken a bit mad by it. And with Brienne of Tarth keeping close to the lady, it made sense to indulge his protectiveness by letting him provide the two women with their meals. Still, as he turned to the Red Witch and her speculating gaze, he couldn’t settle the nagging feeling curling his stomach. He studied the woman, trying to decipher what new scheme she might be spinning, but she turned away from him and went to the open fire in the court. Then, he heard the soft clinging of an adjusted armour as Brienne made her way to them. The sour feeling is his stomach turned bitterer still. Something was happening with Sansa Stark and the duplicitous redhead had a role in it.

 

“What have you done to Sansa Stark?” he hissed between clenched teeth.

 

Brienne stiffened behind him, her eyes narrowing in a lethal glare. The red witch looked back to them leisurely.

 

“Nothing more than what she asked me. She wanted a way to ease her pain...” she smiled as her eyes flitted to Brienne.

 

The lady Knight’s eyes flashed with something that Davos couldn’t decipher before she reined it in. What she didn't leash though, was her adjusting her stance, a movement made even jerkier by worry.

 

“Has she reopened one of her wounds? I’ll go to her.” She declared, her body already in movement.

 

Davos wanted to ask the Knight why and how Lady Sansa could have reopened her wounds but he was cut by the mocking voice of the witch.

 

“Do not worry. Her wounds have entirely knitted up. She’ll have no pain from it.”

 

Davos stilled as he heard the words, his mind going into overdrive while Brienne sputtered and demanded the witch to make sense of her two contradicting statements. When he finally recalled the behaviour of the alpha commander, how driven he’d been by his urge to soothe the young lady’s pain, the blood drained from his face. He launched himself to the witch and closed his hands around her throat

 

“You… wretched, unnatural woman… You gave her something that would send her in a healing heat! I should have known that you would keep spreading misery! I should have killed you then and I will now!...” he shouted as his fingers tightened and tightened more pleasingly under the bare throat of the with.

 

Before he could finally snap the bitch’s neck, he was forcefully pushed off by the lady Knight herself. He’d almost turned on the fair haired maiden but she kept him in a tight grip, hindering his movement while she warned him off the consequences his unbridled actions would cause. The witch, after sputtering and coughing to regain her breath, looked at them both with contempt.

 

“What I did was for my Lord. Not you and not anyone can keep me from doing his command. The prince that was promised is still longing for the kingdom death, this will be a way to tether him to this realm.” she said coldly as she departed.

 

As soon as the woman left, Davos could feel his fury abate as if someone had cut the strings that kept his body straining against the Brienne’s hold. She released him and looked at him questioningly:

 

“That… woman, gave her something to accelerate the healing of the wounds.” he started, trying to find the words to explain the situation delicately. The matters of what would happen between sheets were rarely discussed, even more so when they touched to something as taboo and rare as what happened between alphas, omegas and betas. Moreover, Brienne was a Lady and while she was part of the mating ones, she had not presented yet what would be her inclination and as such much of the discussion of what her inclination would entail surely hadn’t been disclosed to her. He took a breath before carrying on “When an omega has gone through a lot in a short time, as the body is over solicited by dealing with the harm done, it might trigger what is called a healing heat.” he said, his eyes avoiding the Knight’s. “A healing heat is dangerous because of its violence and unpredictability, often leading to a cascading effect.” he finished sternly.

  
As Davos turned, he saw that Brienne’s eyes had widened and her fingers white from clenching on the pommel of her sword. Her face was also pale and there was a tightening of her jaw suggesting she was refraining from shaking her head in denial.

 

“Well… Lady Sansa is safe. The wolf’s den is quite far from the rest of Castle Black. Surely…” she said.

 

“Jon’s an alpha. From what I can gather, he’d bolted out of the room to garner food before running back to her. He didn’t even wait for me to approach him with greetings before he was bound up the stairs. I’m sure that even if all hasn’t been shared with you, you know at least the basics about our kind.” he interrupted.

 

“But, they are siblings! It’s not possible. Even I know that close kin aren’t affected by one another’s heats, ruts or frenzies, otherwise incestuous bastards would fill every village and family.” countered Brienne in a first furious then made stony by restraint voice.

 

Davos shook his head slowly. She was right. Normally, Jon should resist Sansa’s heat. Yet, his uncommon sharp nose for a beta - closer actually to an alpha’s sense of smell , warned him that nothing was as simple as that. The way Sansa’s and Jon’s scents stood together wasn’t the blend of a similar origin. There was something there that warned off other alphas in a way that just couldn’t be with siblings. As useful as it’d been to protect the young omega from the sort that took the black, it was now a threat in itself. Throw in a healing heat and there were some acts which probability became inexorable. Brienne looked at him silently, waiting for some reassurance. After a few moments when none came, she resolutely made for the stairs.

 

“I’ll go then. I’ll go… and drag the Lord Commander from her chambers if need be.”

 

Davos moved in front of her, cutting her path and caught her arm.

 

“You can’t. It’s a healing heat with cascading effects. Any inclination you present will be a volatile addition and will only lead to more grief and harm. Even as a beta, you wouldn’t be able to resist them both or I would have gone myself.”

 

Brienne almost sagged in defeat. Her eyes were full of sorrow knowing the storm brewing and not being able to do anything to stop it. Unable to protect Lady Sansa once more. Davos released her hand and went to position two chairs in front of the stairs.

 

“Still, we can guard the stairs.” he sat heavily but Brienne still glared at the steps leading up to the wolf's den as if trying to find a solution to that quagmire of a situation. “And as you said, common knowledge tells us that close kin isn’t affected, we can pray for the best.” he finally said. Despite the bleakness of his voice, Brienne turned her back on the stairs and came close to him.

 

Yet, none of them shared any prayers as if they knew that they’d be as useless than begging for a beast’s mercy.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your reviews!
> 
> So, yes smut is coming but not in this chapter yet (sorry).
> 
> Here, we see the effects of the healing heat. Just so you know, Sansa already presented but since then she never had any heats. Moreover, the initial symptoms of a healing heat are much stronger and acute than with a regular heat, meaning that she doesn't know what is happening and rather think that she's sick than having a heat. As I said in the chapter before, a heat impairs one judgement, meaning that Sansa's self-control is quite deficient at this time.
> 
> As for Jon, he himself is unaware about what is happening between them. Especially as he thinks that they are siblings. However, there are clues even if his judgment is already badly impaired and his mind keep glossing over it.
> 
> As for the cascading effect (meaning Sansa's heat sparking Jon's rut), it will come into play in the next chapter. :)
> 
> I hope you like this one in the meantime.

Sansa lay crumpled on the floor and tried to fight against the hysteria threatening to overwhelm her. Each time she tried to take a breath, there was a new wave of pain submerging her. _I’m dying. I’ll never see Winterfell again,_ she thought. She’d risked that her wounds would have healed enough to go Mole’s town, but obviously, the knitting had been too fresh and hadn’t stood the brisk pace with which Brienne and her had sneaked into the town. That night, she’d known that something had torn open and she’d gone to the red witch for relief. The woman had given her something alright but warned her that there would be side effects. At the time, she’d imagined some bad cramping or soreness, but surely not this. At the beginning, she’d thought she’d been poisoned, but had dismissed the thought entirely. What would have been the witch's gain in that? No, surely those were only the side effects of the potion. She’d been warned, the acceleration of the healing would wake reactions that had not been given voice before. All those times, she’d found a way to forget Ramsay’s torture... She would laugh that it was now, when the worst was behind her that she would suffer the nastiest of Ramsay’s abuse. Yet, maybe the fragile line that had kept her up running was the only thing that had her pushing back the pain at the back of her mind to reach her goal. Now that the goal was reached, the line was cut and nothing shielded her from her pain. Another wave of acute agony seared through her. She wanted to wail, wanted to call Jon back. Why had he left her alone?

 

She shook her head to regain some of her mind and bit on her lip. It split slightly, the skin already too thinned by the harsh weather to stand her teeth. She almost spat the coppery bit of blood in her mouth, but a foreign thought stopped her. _You’re a lady_. Instead, she clenched her hands around her middle, where the pangs burst from and started counting her breaths. It had always worked when she'd had to deal with Ramsay’s special brand of evil. It would work again. It had to.

 

Her trick worked as long as she kept focused on her breathing. Soon enough the agony dulled to a throbbing soreness that was manageable enough. Except when she tried to get up. Then, the searing came back. As a consequence, she resolved to stay low on the ground, still counting her breaths, and trying to see what range of motion she could make. The dullness increased as she started feeling hotter and hotter, her mind becoming fuzzy with it. Counting breaths became more difficult as her mind started digressing in blabbering thoughts. The strange texture of the ground, more frozen ground that stone and yet, it remained dry and didn’t turn to mud against her molten fingers. The colour was a dark muted thing, just like Jon’s hair. As she mindlessly rubbed the floor with her fingers, she wondered if the dark strands now strictly tamed in a bun would still furl perfectly when released. She’d envied Jon his hair when she was younger. Looked green eyed at the bounce and lushness of his curls, when her own hair just lumped there straight and boring. It is why she fell in love with the southron hairdos, as heavy and itching as they was. At the end of a day wearing them, her hair would look like beautiful waves of fire from having been mercilessly twisted into style. The first time she’d seen it, she had wanted to keep her hair down all day, before her septa admonished her. _Loose hair is for common girls, not ladies_ , she’d said. Sansa had relented but she’d always felt a bit gleeful when her hair would be let down after being dressed in the southern way. Now, of course, the appeal was lost. Jon's hair though didn't need any styling... She looked at the ground once again, as the dry powdery sensation against her fingertips made her itch for something more. Would Jon’s curls feel silky between her fingers?

 

She shook her head, this didn’t make sense, why would she touch Jon’s hair? Yet, any introspection was cut short as she shook with another surge of heat. Her mind drifted again and soon, she was blaming Jon. Why had he left? Why would he leave her alone? If he came back, she promised herself, she would pull on his perfect hair. Yes, that was the perfect punishment. And if he apologised, maybe she’d pet it too. Suddenly, she thought about his beard. It didn’t look as soft as his hair. Would he let her touch it too? She closed her eyes and tried to imagine what the coarse stubble would feel like against her skin. Her fingers itched increasingly. She had a deep urge now to run her hand against his cheek and neck, patting and rubbing her sensitive pads until she’d soaked up all sensations. She wondered then about his mouth, would his lips feel soft after all her petting? A warning sounded in her mind. _Why am I thinking like that about Jon?_ But all thoughts quickly fled as she heard the click and bang of the door opening then closing shut.

 

“Sansa! Gods!” swore Jon and Sansa’s eyes jerked to see him lay his supplies haphazardly on the table next to the door.

 

 _He’s come back for me!_ Her mind cried out. _Good, noble alpha_ murmured some instinct at the same time. She looked in a daze as Jon rushed to her and crouched on the floor. Roughly, he put his hands on her shoulders and she wanted to whine at the soothing coolness of his touch.

 

“Sansa, you’re burning up! We have to get you to bed.” he said, his voice gruff with worry.

 

He took her in his arms and soon enough she felt herself cocooned against his chest. His doublet was still cold from his being outside and the leather scratched against the wool of her dress. But her nose found naturally its way to Jon’s neck and immediately she felt better. His scent appeased the ache she was feeling as if she’d been immersed in a hot bath after being pelted with hail. She nuzzled at his neck and took another breath of his delicious scent. There was something of a bonfire in it, like the great fires they’d have at Winterfell, the days when temperature dropped below freezing. It also carried a bit of snow, that fresh smell of elemental wildness, untouched by the will of men. The blend reminded her of better times and she wanted to curl herself around him and not let go. She let her hands wander, one on the side of his neck, at the edge of his doublet, where his skin was warmed by his clothes. The other one, was draped over his shoulder and had crept up until it lay at the base of his nape. She felt Jon stiffen as she browsed her fingertips against the small hairs gathered there and his scent tinged with something different. Curious, she sniffed again at his kin, ignoring the reflexive bob of his throat and the tightening of his arms around her. There was a hint of spice there, something warm and forbidden that sent a chill or maybe a thrill down her spine. She pressed her nose deeper into Jon’s skin, trying the chase the elusive scent. Here it was, that dark thing, that smelt to her like something roasted and spicy but sweet at the same time. Her mouth watered, she needed to taste that flavour. She took a quick lick.

 

“Sansa...” choked Jon above her as they both dropped heavily on the bed.

 

She lifted her head in shock. She looked around herself and found out she was no longer on the floor but in Jon’s arms. In her impaired state, she hadn’t even realised that he’d carried her to the bed. Her eyes finally met his. They were dark pool of night, glinting with the barest hint of light in them. Shock and worry swirled in their depths. As she finally recalled her wild behaviour, she felt herself blushing in shame. She hung her head low.

 

“I’m sorry… I don’t know…” she started, a low whine in her voice.

  


Jon cursed under his breath. Sansa was ill, that at least was clear. She was feverish, obviously out of her mind with it and the only thing he did was admonish her and reduce her into a whimpering mass on his lap. He closed his eyes, and patted the smooth curve of her shoulder.

 

“Sansa… It’s alright… You’re ill… I misinterpreted…” he cut himself off rather than spook even further his sister by revealing to her that he’d thought she’d done something as improper and forward as _lick_ him.

 

A sister that smelled like the best sweets that he could imagine, something warm, sweet, with a bit of tartness and underneath all, something solid, something that spoke of strength and resilience and loyalty. It was certainly his fault for his bastardly beginnings and vicious end, that her scent would evoke in him dark thoughts and desires. Surely, both his unfortunate circumstances had unhinged something in him, turned his base nature into something perverse. For never, the proper, poised Sansa Stark would ever stroke or nuzzle with abandon someone being her brother. _Half-brother_ , replied sharply the ghost of her younger self in his mind. Breath left his chest in a huff of shock. No, she never said it because of that. She never meant it like _that_. His lustful thoughts were playing mind tricks on him, he knew. It must have been just the tip of her nose, surely. Nothing like the barest flick of an omega’s tongue on her alpha’s mate. He inwardly groaned as the image made his manhood swell. He fidgeted a bit, wondering on how to get the beautiful omega off his lap without her being made aware of the stiffness in his breeches.

 

Sansa shivered against him and he realised with a start that her dress was soaked through with sweat. Once again, he was struck by the fact that she was sick and the dread of it killed his lust quicker than any shame. He finally settled her on the bed before crouching before her.

 

“Listen sweetling, you have a fever. Your dress is drenched in sweat. If you keep it on, you’ll catch your death. Do you have a dry shift somewhere to change into?” he said trying to soften his gruff voice into something that would make her feel safe.

 

She looked at him, her eyes shining and blue as the sky at dusk. Her expression so soft that he forgot the twinge of warning at the back of his mind telling him something was wrong. His hand came automatically to caress her cheek, and she leaned into it, with the grace of a grateful kitten. A sharp need rose in his guts and he jerked back, as if that idle movement had burned him. Was still burning him since as he turned to go to the cupboard, he could still feel heat prickling his palm. The irony in the fact that it was the same hand that he’d burned when trying to save Lord Mormont a long time ago was not lost to him. He opened the cupboard but it was empty. He turned to Sansa, who looked at him and seemed to startle at his inquiring gaze. She rubbed her hands against one another and shyly looked away.

 

“I only have two shifts. The other one is beside the fire, still drying from being laundered yesterday.” she murmured, pink brightening her ears.

 

Jon strolled resolutely toward the white muslin next to the fire. Hopefully, it might have dried enough for Sansa to change into it. But his hopes were for nothing, as when he reached it, the fabric was still damp to the touch. He looked over the room to see if there weren’t any linens that they could use instead. He knew that letting Sansa in her dress was not a possibility. Old Nan had always told them that damp clothes when sick were the surest way to the tomb. He wouldn’t let Sansa die now. Not when she’d gone through so much and that she was the last of his siblings. He sighed.

 

“I’ll go and look for one of my spare tunics. It would be alright, I guess.” he said with reluctance.

 

Somewhat the idea of leaving her alone was anathema to him. Once again, something prickled at his mind, but dread and confusing emotions kept him off examining why he didn’t dare to leave Sansa alone or what made him propose his own garments rather than ask for one of Brienne’s.

 

“Don’t leave” was the soft cry as he moved stiltedly to the door.

 

He turned and saw Sansa’s big eyes shine with unshed tears. He shook his head, trying to rein in the impulse to run to her side and cajole her.

 

“Sansa… you need something warm and dry to change into…” he said.

 

She got up on shaky legs and stumbled a bit. He moved to her and caught her in his arms before she fell again. Suddenly, he was once again surrounded by the heavy, heady scent of her and a wave of heat scoured his veins. He stood her upright, clutching her elbows and put an arm’s length between them, so dreadful he was feeling about the unwanted desire threatening to engulf him. She looked at him a little surprised but gripping his forearm in her hands, she squared her shoulders and said:

 

“Then.. give me your shirt.The one you’re wearing.” she said, a defiant glint in her eyes.

 

“What…” he gasped, taken aback. “You want...You want my shirt?” he said dumbfounded.

 

She looked up at him and for the first time since he’d come back into the room, he could see once again the resolute Sansa that he’d been so used to those past few days.

 

“Yes, it’s warm and dry, isn’t it?” she said sharply. But then, her confidence crumpled as something dark crossed her mind. “It’s just… please don’t leave me alone here...” she finally said, her head lowering in shame.

 

At once, the fierce need to protect her and reassure her slammed into him. He couldn’t help but take her chin in his hand to lift her head, meet her eyes before acquiescing to her request. Her face lit up and he had to refrain the impulse to embrace her fully. He walked her to the bed and knelt in front of her so their eyes were once more level. As he looked in the deep shadowy blue of hers, he couldn’t help but find them beautiful. He told her of how they were to proceed. She nodded at his instructions.

 

He stood up then and turned his back to her, trying to turn a blind ear to the swish and soft creaks of her undressing. In the meantime, he focused on unbuttoning his doublet with shaky hands and let it fall on the ground. He would retrieve it and put it back anyway, once he’d given her his tunic. He took it off swiftly and blindly handed it behind his back. He heard of a soft gasp and knew then that Sansa had seen his scars. He tensed but he didn’t move. He finally felt her trembling hand reaching for the garment. A second and again soft noises of muslin gliding on skin let him know she’d put it on. Swallowing heavily at the rush of emotions that her gasp sparked, he bent to retrieve the doublet. There was a bit of anger, he realised, as he felt a sudden urge to shout at her. What for, he didn’t know, but his movements were jerky and tense as he started putting his arms through the sleeves of the garment.

 

Yet, before he could finish, there was a warm, soft touch against his back. He stilled.

 

“I have them too, you know…” said Sansa against his back, and he could feel the fluttering of her lips against the remains of his wounds. “I know what it’s like… I feel it too.” she finished in a voice light as air. She pressed a kiss to his skin.

 

He closed his eyes, feeling his mind unravel at the sensation. Because for all of Jon Snow's honour and nobleness, for all the things he’d learned to resist, there was one thing that had always been his deepest weakness. Something that he’d learned to hide very young and that very few had touched upon. Something that Sansa offered without knowing what it was: the dual offer of kindness and belonging.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, so this took a long time to write. I always forget how long it takes me to write smut. This is a full chapter of it, so warning if you don't like that sort of thing.
> 
> I'm not sure if I'm entirely satisfied with it, it does seem a bit emotional at times. 
> 
> For reasons, I've decided to keep the angst about the sibling situation pretty low-key. In part because I'm not that good at writing angsty sex, I feel and the other part, because the incest part of the story doesn't really float my boat. Instead, I tried to focus on how, independently from everything else, they feel about each other.
> 
> Well, I hope that it's not too bad, you let me know! :)

Jon stood frozen as nimble fingers coursed over his back and he thought that this felt more like magic than any perfunctory ritual of Melisandre. Because Sansa - this dear, sweet sweet, omega - had found a stronger, deeper way to heal wounds that had not closed inside him yet. For as the delicate tips of her fingers roamed and caressed the rough ridges marking his brothers’ betrayal of him, she lit fires upon fires that finally engulfed him in flames. Then, when her soft, warm mouth followed them, the fire exploded in a white hot ball of molten emotion that scorched everything out of his mind until nothing except raw lust remained and pooled in his groin. He let the doublet fall back to the ground and groaned low in his throat.

 

The sound jolted him from the daze he was lost in and he scrambled for some sort of sanity. _Sansa. Sister_ , whispered his rational mind in panic. _She’s my sister_ , he thought again. He turned abruptly toward her and her hands fell to her sides. Her eyes were huge in her face, brimming with longing but also innocence. As if she didn’t know what she was doing to him. As he looked into her eyes, that deep blue so much darker than what he was used to, some beginning of understanding slowly dawned on him. He took a breath as he realised what the heat in his body meant. He was in the first stages of a rut. He didn’t know why or how, as Sansa was his sibling and shouldn’t, _couldn’t_ incite such an event. He took a deep breath to calm himself but was only successful in drawing in more of that delicious, mouth watering scent of hers. _Mine_ whispered something dark in him, _my omega, mine, mine, mine_. He almost choked on the thought and opened his eyes in shock.

 

Sansa’s eyes were glued to his chest and he knew she was observing the deeper scars on his torso. She extended her hand softly, dreamily as if she was in a trance. In her face, he could read only sorrow for his pain and a will to soothe, to comfort. That was why, when he stopped the progress of her hand, it wasn’t with a harsh slap or vice grip. Instead, he carefully curled his hand around her own, his thumb nestling gently inside her palm. She lifted her eyes to his and in the dilated pupils, he could only see surprise:

 

“Can I touch them?” she asked breathlessly “It won’t…” _hurt_ , he knew she wanted to say, but a shadow passed over her features, her eyes fell a little and she cut herself off. Her jaw tightened a bit before she looked into his eyes once more “I’ll be mindful…” she promised, her voice resolute, soft and melancholic.

 

His heart beat even faster in his chest, for then, Sansa didn’t look like a skittish and innocent doe but once again the battered, resilient woman that yet hid a softness that was far kinder than in her youth. Then, he realised what had been wrong all this time. The blue of her eyes wasn’t the shining, vibrant blue of a summer sky but had morphed into the dusky blue velvet of the sky at nightfall. At once, he knew the cause of the delicious scent that was threatening to bring him to his knees. _An omega's heat_. He closed his eyes, feeling shaken and wild, as his deeper nature roared in triumph. Images upon images of them intertwined and straining against the other swirled behind his closed eyelids. It was no longer blood in his veins but wildfire and he choked on a breath as he felt himself grow hard and ready for her. Sansa upon hearing his distress pulled on her hand and came closer. He knew then, that if he didn’t do anything to stop her, he would have her under him on the floor like a wench during a drunken night.

 

His hand was swift when it curled around her throat and he had to bit back a groan at the hurried pulse he felt under his fingers. To gentle his hold on her, knowing that most probably the Bolton bastard must have gripped her like this, he let his thumb shift until it hooked over her chin. The action wasn’t overly kind but at least it lacked the brutality she was used to. Still, there was some apprehension in her gaze and to justify himself, he blurted out:

 

“You’re in heat.”

 

The words were rushed but soft. Her eyes widened in surprised realisation. He couldn’t take his eyes away when her mouth opened and rounded in a soft “oh”. His breathing was difficult as if to sustain themselves the filthy images at the back of his mind were burning all the air he managed taking in. The resulting intakes of air were shuddery and so was his voice when he slowly whispered:

 

“Your actions, they are not what you would really do.”

 

Yet, as soon as Sansa heard his words, her eyes glittered with anger. As if by that mild phrasing, he’d offended her. He opened his mouth to add something but all thoughts left as her mouth moved under his thumb, took the roughened pad of it in her mouth and bit on it. Her teeth were gentle, more of a warning nip than anything and she immediately soothed the bite with a swish of her tongue. Yet, it was the defiance in her eyes, a defiance he’d learnt to recognise as something entirely hers that achieved the destruction of his mind. The leash he had on himself broke.

  


In an instant, Sansa was hauled to Jon’s body by the small of her back. His mouth found hers and the heat with which he invaded her made her whimper in shuddery need. Lips soft despite being chapped by the harsh North wind, moved against hers in a rub that sent needles of fire all through her body. The wet caress of his tongue against hers was even sweeter and arose sensations against her skin as if the heat she felt was really winter cold. Her skin prickled with goose bump and she shivered deliciously against him, while the tips of her breasts tightened in harsh little points even more sensitive to the scratch of his tunic. She shuddered in delight and pressed herself against him, all thoughts of decency or morals having fled from her mind. Even the offence she’d felt when he’d dared insinuate that she wouldn’t have cared for his pain, if not for her body’s mood imbalance, melted under the rough yet gentle feeling of him against her.

 

Soon enough, she couldn’t remain still in her arms, and her hands curled around his shoulders, around his throat, stroking the marred flesh beneath, before her nails scratched against the coarseness of his beard. The low growl he emitted from deep within his throat went over her like a lover’s caress and she responded by rubbing her whole body against him.

 

As her hands roamed freely on his upper body, his descended until they settled on her hips. He pressed himself against her and for the first time, the hard ridge rubbing against her pelvis wasn’t something that made her recoil in horror. Instead of freezing in his arms, she felt herself become wild, felt the need to press tighter. Her fingertips and all the surface of her skin was aflame with the need to touch. _Touch, touch, touch_ sang her instincts, _touch and pet and feel the strength of your alpha_. Her nimble fingers started descending as Jon finally released her mouth and started devouring her neck with open-mouthed kisses, full of playful nips and long licks. The sensation was unlike anything she’d ever felt and it pulled on a string directly linked to her womb. There was now a deep pulse low in her cunt that drove her wild.

 

When her hands finally fell to the edge of his breeches, she followed the demarcation between skin and fabric, loving how taut muscles quivered on her path. Jon hissed against her throat, a low gush of air that cooled delightfully the skin heated by his mouth. As he panted against her neck, she couldn’t help but want to see. See him, the lean, hard build of his body. She was sure that her eyes goggled when they finally caught a sneak. Just below her hand, the fabric of his breeches was straining, trying to contain the size of his cock. His muscles clenched and unclenched in a way that made her want to fall to her knees and taste them. She licked her lips and wondered about the taste. Salty and warm? Would it carry that touch of spice that made her famished in a way she’d never been? At once, she could imagine the roasted sweet spice of him against her tastebuds and her womb tightened in a slick clench. Jon moaned once again in the crook of her neck and she lifted her eyes to him.

 

His eyes were dark, so dark with an obsidian glint that she wanted to drown in them and forget about everything else. This time she was the one to attack his lips, pulling him by his hips against her. She let herself taste him, explore him until all her senses were absorbed in the task of kissing him. He whined low in his throat, grinding a bit against her. The tension in her body exacerbated until all she wanted was to arch her back and press tighter their most intimate parts. He must have sensed her need because he hauled her up against him and she could only smile when her legs circled his waist. In a few steps, they were back to the bed and he gentled their fall a bit, so she wouldn’t be crushed by his weight. _Sweet, strong, gentle alpha_ whispered her mind, _so noble, so deserving_ . Yet, with a quick nip at the base of her throat, with just that amount of teeth to let her know that he wasn’t _that_ noble, her train of thoughts was lost. She whimpered against him as the ache inside her was becoming more urgent. She knew by then, that her thighs were drenched by her desire but couldn’t find it in herself to care. All she wanted now was his skin against her skin, so he could imprint himself on her forever. He lifted her slip then and she wanted to thank the gods for his uncanny ability to read her needs. However, once he removed the garment, there was a pause. She opened her eyes and saw him frozen above her. _Oh,_ her mind went, _he wasn’t expecting the scars_. She looked at them now. Black, blue, green and yellow bruises undercut with deep rusted lines made by Ramsay’s knife. She’d got so used to them that she forgot that this wasn’t the natural state of her body. Suddenly, she wanted to hide them, not wanting Jon to see how disfigured she now truly was. The slight movement of her arms made him look up at her eyes. At what she saw in his, she stopped her instinctive action.

 

 _I have them too_ . And yet, he hadn’t grasped the full meaning of her words. Jon looked down at Sansa’s battered body and was overwhelmed by sorrow at the sight of such ugly marks on her. Still, despite the angry black, sickening green and saddening yellow of her bruises, he couldn’t help to note on the intricate beauty of Sansa’s form. _Beautiful, strong omega_ , murmured this mind. He was astonished by the inner strength she had to be able to stand such abuse, not only survive it but find the force in her to go back to Winterfell and confront Ramsay. At the idea of the scum, he felt a deep rage ignite. He saw Sansa move her hand them as if in protection. He looked into her eyes and hoped she saw all the grief and fury he felt at her mistreatment. She stopped her motion. Gently, he took her hand and guided to the deepest scar he had, just under his pectoral, the one that killed him.

 

“I have them too”, he repeated back to her, his voice soft and deep.

 

Sansa relaxed in his arms, and he felt once more submerged by a wave of emotion. His eyes perused her body, and he forced himself to look behind the hurt to the woman he had before him. Delicately he bent to her and lay a kiss on a jagged brown line just under her ribcage. Then, another after another, each time trying to have them the lightest possible so as not to harm further. Sansa’s muscles started to pull taut and when he heard her breathy sigh, somewhere next to the dip of her waist, he smiled against her skin. That’s when, she put her hand in his hair and started to pull the knot keeping them back loose. The pulling of a few strands was enough to have him hiss against her skin as a slightly edged pleasure coursed his veins. At once, all the passion he’d felt ignited right back. Suddenly, all he could smell was that sweet, sweet, scent of her, the bite of tartness enough to want to make him chase it. The note just enough to inflame his senses and make him wonder wonder where else she might be tart and sweet. He closed his eyes, nuzzling and rubbing his face against her skin. Her thighs pulled up from under to cradle him and Sansa arched her back. He looked up to meet her fevered eyes and he smiled at the passionate daze in them. He could feel his hardened cock straining once more and he almost wanted to remove the garment and finally, finally bury himself inside her. However, the dreamy look in her eyes made him hungry to see her in the high of her ecstasy and he knew that once he was inside her, he would not be able to appreciate completely, his restraint and focus entirely shot.

 

So, with a wicked smile and a hand that sneaked up higher until it came circling the tip of her breasts, he slowly lowered himself until his mouth reached her curls. She gasped in heated surprise, her eyes focused on him in a way that made him want to grind against the mattress. He first dropped a slow kiss to her curls. Then, to her thighs and he tried not to be to dazzled by the heady scent coming from her slick core. Another kiss to the soft juncture of her other thigh, and this time he couldn’t resist taking a deep breath of her aroma before giving her core a long, languid lick. Sansa tensed above him and released a low, horny moan that almost made him spill right then. The flavour of her was unbelievable on his tongue, everything he imagined and more. He went back to her cunt, knowing full well that this particular thirst wouldn’t likely be quenched any soon. He took another lick and at the end, he lightly sucked on her nub. She trashed against him in pleasure and he couldn’t resist the curve of his smile against her heated flesh.

 

“You taste so good, sweetling. I’m going to devour you.” he promised, his voice low and husky.

 

She nodded wildly in response, her hips already angling more for that delicious caress. He grinned at her and resumed his feast. He alternated between long licks, quick nips at her inner thighs, and some tongue fucking. Above him, she went wild, pushing her core more forcefully into his mouth, her fingers clawing in his hair to trap him against her. Her scent was everywhere and her desire was all he could taste until he was drunk on it. He’d never felt that hard and unrestrained in his life. Never had he wanted to stake his claim more in that moment. When she started to strain against him in her own regular rhythm, he stopped teasing her and entered her with two fingers. Already, her cunt was tightly clenched and refused to let go of him. He closed his eyes for one moment to recover from the sensation, knowing that the fantasy of it around his own cock would only render him to pieces. Instead, knowing that he would not be able to control himself further, he increased the pace of his finger fucking and started to suck more forcefully on her nub.

  


Sansa had never imagined that anything like this was possible. Already she could feel a tightening inside her womb that she knew would be devastating to her senses when released. She took a look at Jon, his hair so dark against her pale flesh. _He is really from the North_ , she thought idly. Another thought started profiling itself in her head, of the reason of why he was from the North but at that moment Jon resumed sucking on the bit of flesh at the top of her cunt and she fell to pieces with a breathy moan, the words _he’s your brother_ drowning in the maelstrom of her ecstasy.

 

She came back to her senses more heated than she was before, a foggy haze around her that she remembered from her first heat. Abruptly, she took Jon’s face between her hands and pulled him none to gently to her until she could kiss his mouth. Her taste, not unpleasant but on the contrary delicious when mixed with his own. She kissed and kissed him, trying to get more of their mixed flavour. He growled in her mouth and she felt jerky movements between them as he opened his breeches. Then, she felt the bluntness of his manhood against her cunt and she immediately opened her legs wide so he could breach her. When he finally entered her, the stretch was both so snug and slick that she couldn’t help but mewl and bit at his neck. The low hiss between his teeth when he finally buried himself inside her was all she needed to know that the experience was as pleasurable for him. He took her mouth once again, his kiss desperate and sloppy. She couldn’t have burnt hotter.

 

“So hot, so tight, sweetling.” he murmured into her ear. “Only thing better will be when you come on my knot.”

 

The filthy words made her clench around him and his hands gripped the covers until his knuckles turned white. He nuzzled against her throat once more and she turned her head so he might have more room for those wet kisses that made her all shuddery against him. She strained, her back arching and already, she needed him to move. He chuckled when she begged him. Replied with dirty words of how hungry she was for his cock. She almost lost her rhythm then, but fortunately he was there to pick up the cadence for her. She loved the sensation of his muscles working to drive himself deeper inside her, his arms coming to her side to have more leverage for his rough thrust. Already, she could feel him becoming harder, wider and she realised with a burst of pleasure that this was the beginning of his knot. She gave back as much as she could, trying on lifting her legs a little more until the balls of her feet rested at the small of his back, her knees higher against his flank. They both moaned as the change in the angle made their coupling more profound still. Jon increased his thrusts inside her and she could feel a new wave coming to submerge her. When they finally peaked together, his knot slotting far inside her womb, she felt as if all of her being exploded until reforming in something new. They kept grinding against one another as spark after spark of pleasure engulfed them. When, wrung out, they finally fell asleep together, Jon’s knot still not rescinding from inside her, she couldn’t help but smile.

 

So lost in the ecstasy they had shared, she hadn’t noticed the harsh scent of blood. Jon had bit himself at the last moment before peaking rather than mating with her. At that moment, he’d been seized upon a terrible guilt at the idea of marking her such. Unbeknownst to him, the reason for that was that his conscious mind had tried to reassert itself at the last minute against his instincts. _She’s your sister_ , it had murmured silently and he’d bitten his own arm. _She’s not_ , replied angrily his nature, yet the mating remained unconsummated.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here is the final part of the story. Buckle up, it's going to be angst-filled to the brim.
> 
> So, this chapter is from the POV of Jon (whenever it comes to self loathing and angst, I find it so much easier to write it as Jon than Sansa). We don't see much from Sansa here, but it doesn't mean that she doesn't feel bad about what happened. However, my take is that Sansa is much more pragmatic than Jon and has enough experience with real bad situations that now she just sucks it up and moves on.

Warmth, comfort. Half-asleep, he snuggled into the soft body against him. Delicate skin of a nape and sweet smelling hair. Intoxicated by the scent, he nuzzled against the hairline and pressed soft kisses in the hollow of the spine. A low feminine sigh answered him and he felt himself get hard at the sound. Placing his hands on the woman’s hips, he pulled her tight against his growing erection. Already, an unformed impression of her lingered in his mind. Creamy skin, hair like banked fire, eyes clear as sky. He didn’t know her face yet, still caught in his dreams, but would know her scent everywhere. A scent that spoke of tart fruits in a summer day but with the comforting strength of a winter’s mulled wine. He let his hands wander but under his hands there were the rough marks of scars. He frowned and growled low in his throat. Who would dare touch his woman?  _ Ramsay. _ The name acted like a sudden bucket of frigid water to his senses. Now awake, he opened his eyes and next to him lay the naked form of Sansa. His sister.

 

He jerked away in a wave of horror deepened further by the lingering spark of desire he felt for her. Her body, bare and vulnerable in front of him, was more delectable than anything he’d ever seen. Her looking so debauched and content made her even more desirable. But she was  _ his sister _ . Revulsion replaced horror and he sprung from the bed as he felt a wave of sickness take him. He retched loudly in the empty chamber pot.

 

He heard furs and covers ruffling behind him and he turned without thinking. Sansa was there, her blue eyes huge in her colour-drained face. There was no accusation in her expression, just shock and shame as she lowered her eyes to herself and her hair fell around her like a curtain protecting her body from his eyes. A curtain that, impulsively, he wanted to open. Another wave of sickness took him then and he jerked back from the sight of Sansa in her bed. He put on his discarded breeches and jerkin but didn’t dare to reach out for his tunic. Right now, he didn’t know what he would do if enveloped in their entwined scents. Another dry heave curled his stomach and he hurried toward the door. When he opened it, he heard a bit back sob from her and instinctively turned. 

 

She sat in a ball at the center of the bed, silently crying with her forehead on the top of the knees as she curled her arms tight against her legs. Her hair still hang loosely around her. The worst of her bruises and scars were hidden but there were still the traces of her rough journey to Castle Black on her slim limbs. He swallowed with difficulty as he realised for the first time how frail she looked.  _ Bad, bad alpha! You need to feed her! _ admonished his instinct. But right now, he couldn’t look at her, nor stay next to her as horrified he was with himself. He hovered around the door, torn between going to her to comfort her and flee the room and the sin they committed together. Finally, he turned away. Yet, he couldn’t help but say gruffly:

 

“You’re all bones. Please eat something.”

 

There was no answer to his statement and he didn’t wait for any.

 

At the bottom of the stairs, he met Brienne and Davos, both grim and silent. At their expression, he knew that they were aware about what happened. He dipped his head in shame and in a toneless voice urged Brienne to go upstairs and take care of Sansa. Brienne hurried and shot him a distrustful look as she passed him. Left alone with Davos, Jon looked at the knight. He was an honourable man and one known for his honest and harsh judgements. Yet, Davos eyes only held a discouraged sorrow in them. Instead of words filled with disgust, he said:

 

“You need to bathe.”

 

At once, Jon realised that as much as he’d fled the room where he’d… fucked his sister - gods, how the thought made his stomach lurch - the scent still clung to him, torturing him with just that tiny bit of lust under a mountain of disgust. He nodded to Davos and went to the closest cistern. He threw first one bucket and then another on himself. The water’s freezing temperature was like a knife in the gut but he relished its brutality. Finally, he couldn’t smell Sansa and himself on his clothes anymore. He heard footsteps behind him and turned to see Davos arrive with new clothes. At the sight, he undressed rapidly, splashed himself more with frigid water, trying to clean himself from everything that happened in the wolf’s den. Finally, as the shivers engulfing him were enough to rattle his whole frame, he clothed himself with the new garments. Davos had stood silently to the sides the whole time and when Jon was no longer naked, he said:

 

“It wasn’t your faults. Melisandre induced a healing heat in her.” 

 

Jon stilled as he heard the words. As matter of fact as they were, they still rankled him to the pits of his being. What he’d done, it wasn’t natural. Even if she’d been in a healing heat - so strong that such events would break the most noble and resistant alphas,betas and omegas, it was said - it shouldn’t have happened. He was her  _ brother _ . It was unnatural, forbidden, sinful. But as his mind started to catch on the role of Melisandre, he could feel his shame being swept away by fury. The red witch was everything but natural. She would use a man’s seed to give birth to a shadow that will kill the brother, she would lead a previously noble man to burn his own daughter. As such, how difficult would it really be for her to trick a bedding between brother and sister? Already, he felt himself grow steadier and soon the rage was enough to steer him away from the pit of despair, he would have surely wallowed in. He left Davos without a word, his fury-driven feet leading him towards the witch’s room.

 

“What about the clothes?” asked Davos behind him, his voice cooled down by a facade of calmness.

 

“Burn them. Burn it all.” replied Jon in a harsh growl.

  
  


He didn’t bother to knock on the door. Yet, Melisandre didn’t seem surprised at his interruption. As was her habit, she was looking into the flames of her fire, probably trying to decipher a new message from her god.

 

“You seem chagrined,my Lord.” she said calmly, not a hint of regret in her voice. But no surprise either.

 

“Tell me, have these last hours been your design? Did you conspire to betray me and my sister?” he asked icily. He wouldn’t put into words what had happened but he didn’t have to, did he?

 

“What betrayal do you speak of? All I did was to bring you back from the deads and give your sister some relief from her pain.” she said nonchalantly.

 

“So, you deny it then?” he asked, trying to resist clenching his jaw in anger at shirking responsibility.

 

“I deny nothing. You needed an anchor to the living. You refused me before, and would have refused me again. I had to find another way.” 

 

Jon felt bewildered at once. Moreover, for all the matter-of-factness of her words and tone, he could swear there was just a tiny glint of satisfaction in her eyes. It was like oil to the fire of his anger. The fury morphed into hatred at the idea that she did all this to pay him back for his turning her down. 

 

“All that because you couldn’t stand  _ rejection _ ?” he couldn’t help repulsion filling his voice.

 

“You didn’t hear me.” she scoffed but he could tell that he’d hit a nerve. She regained her composure quickly though. “You needed to be tethered or you’d soon die again” she dramatically stated.

 

It was his turn to scoff and the sneer in his voice when he replied was enough to turn wine into vinegar.

 

“You think that this unnatural sin you made us do will _ tether _ me. Any sane man would argue it will sooner make me jump from the Wall.”

 

She looked at him then in a dissecting way that made him want to snap her neck. 

 

“It did though. Tether you. You’re no longer wallowing in misery. She lit the fire back in you. And now, you care for her and what would happen to her. So as I said. Tethered.” she answered, her nonchalance barely masking her triumph.

 

He took a step back. He wanted to retch once more at her phrasing. She talked about him and Sansa as if they were lovers finally joining like in a song. They were  _ siblings _ for fuck’s sake and she’d tricked them into that sin.  _ Yet, there are songs about brothers and sisters and love and tricks _ , replied a venomous voice in his head. He shut it out. He wouldn’t let that woman’s treachery turn the violation of his sister in a romantic tale. He wouldn’t. However, she was also correct in that he was purposeful again now, had a duty to Sansa. A duty to protect her from men that would use her, dishonour her. A memory of the abuse dealt by Ramsay to her body flashed in his mind.  _ Never again _ . Whatever had shone on his face, she surely took it as victory as she sat back next to her fire and said:

 

“If it makes you feel better, it was the will of the God of light.”

 

“I don’t care about your fucking god.” he growled back at her, his fists clenching to his sides.

 

“Then, at least, you should know that laying with you was surely no worse than with that husband of hers.” Melisandre told back nastily, probably angered by his disdain for her god.

 

At that, he snapped. He took her by the arm and hauled her to her feet. Then, he took a few steps back and said:

 

“You have until I wake the sentinel to gather your things. After that, you’re leaving Castle Black.” he said, the words heavy like a sentence.

 

“What, you can’t… You are the Prince that was promised, my role is to…” she said, for once bewildered.

 

“I don’t care about your faith, I don’t care about your god, I don’t care about your prophecies. You will leave or I will hang you myself.” he replied.

 

“It’s… You’ll need me.” she said, and he relished to hear the hint of panic in her voice.

 

“If it makes you feel better, tell yourself it is the will of the God of Light.” he sneered and left.

  
  


As he stood in the gallery, looking at the doors opening to let Melisandre out, he nodded once more at the sentinel. His men had been strangely unsure about sending a woman alone on her way that close to sunset. However, he couldn’t feel any genuine worry or regret for her fate in him. A sound of clothes ruffling on his right and he turned to see Sansa stopping and watching Melisandre leave. Once again, his heart lurched. The sin they’d committed still tortured him and yet, he couldn’t help but admire her regal stance, the elegance in the tilt of her chin. He shook his head and looked straight ahead. From the corner of his eye, he saw her turn to him, her eyes lingering on him before she looked away, pink tainting her cheeks. When her eyes turned to him again, they were ungiving of her state of mind though. She said his name and took a step toward him. He took a step back, not wanting her to close the distance. She stopped, surprised.

 

“She engineered the whole thing.” he explained in case she was wondering.

 

A shadow passed over her face and her eyes hardened a bit. Sansa was clever, she’d already deducted the whole thing, he real

 

“It’s not what I wanted to ask.” she replied, her chin tilting up in assertiveness.

 

At her words, Jon stilled. He wasn’t ready for this. He would never ready for this. It was a sin, even greater because a part of him didn’t regret it. Talking about it would be worse than anything. He felt a sudden spark of anger that she would feel it easy to discuss it. To reminisce the repulsing act. Already, she looked composed and poised as if it was just as water sliding off a duck’s back. As for himself, he looked dejected and wild. How could they appear so differently? He didn’t want to have the answers,though, too angry and scared at what they might imply. About her. About him. It was surely why his voice was so harsh and cold when he answered her.

 

“We’re not talking about this. We’re never talking about this. That is final.”

 

Her eyes narrowed and cooled with something akin to icy rage. An instant though, and her face smoothed in a resolute and serene expression. A mask, he knew. She looked down to the door again with that curiously unaffected stare and said:

 

“Should I gather my things then and be on my way too?” her voice was a genially cool song and it tore at him worse than daggers in the night.

 

He shook his head and had to clench the baluster until his knuckles turned white to refrain from going to her. He answered gruffly, trying to keep restrained all his conflicting emotions.

 

“Of course not. You should rest. We have a war meeting tomorrow.”

 

Without looking at her, too afraid of what he would read in her face and his reaction to it, he left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so I know that the story is not exactly ending well as we have no resolution about their feelings. However, it felt difficult for me to have a happy ending at this point (I'm a mean author that really likes her angst, so they will both suffer until they get together for real).
> 
> In terms of what will happen next, the story will follow loosely the show with just a tweak or two there (I feel like the tortured look that Jon was giving Sansa during season 6 and the tension between the two could easily play into that story). I'm actually working on an epilogue of sorts recounting some key moments from season 6 and 7 from Brienne's and Davos POVs. 
> 
> STOP HERE IF YOU DON'T WANT SPOILERS.  
> As for after, I have a sequel in mind, but if I never get it in writing, here are the major plot points:  
> Jon sleeps with Daenerys because he likes her and she is everything that Sansa is not. When they arrive at White Harbor, they receive the news of Viserion melting the wall and they go straight to the North without going to Winterfell (which is fine to Jon because he'd rather not face Sansa with another woman on his arm).  
> They go North, they settle camp and there Arya and Sam arrive with the news of Jon's parentage. A very awkward moment as Jon realises that he has been fucking family -again- and worse than that, that he is in fact in love with Sansa despite trying to convince himself he was in love with Danaerys. Arya tries to reassure Jon that he still his brother no matter what and tells him that he needs to overcome his grief because Sansa has fought all along to secure everything he needs, she hints also at the new accents in Sansa's scent but Jon is clueless. Jon gets broody and dark (too much trauma at once, poor thing). Danaerys is quite unruffled by all that (after all, her parents were brother and sister, so aunt and nephew is not that bad) but becomes a bit worried about her claim (which is normal after all she's gone through in Mereen).  
> Jon decides to continue fucking her to reassure her and they keep fighting the Night King. However, he is still pining for Sansa and gets a bit aggressive whenever he hears about possible alpha competition.
> 
> As for Sansa, well, unbeknownst to Jon, he has started the beginning of a mating bond with her(Sansa had bitter her lips bloody when she was in pain and as distracted as they were, they didn't notice it). So she is actually a bit calmer about things between them than he his. However, she is still very disgruntled that he doesn't listen to her advice and doesn't know quite what to do of the very mixed signals he's sending her (I mean, strangling Littlefinger in the crypts before leaving, not very subtle right?). She soldiers on because that is what Sansa does. Also, she needs to make sure Littlefinger never knows about what happened between her and Jon, so lots of things to do. Bran comes back (instead of that creepy line about her being beautiful in her wedding dress, he gives an as creepy line about her being so brave when hurting in the wolf den) and of course, he knows. Arya comes back and is unsettled by Sansa (because of the incomplete mating, her scent has some accents of Jon's) but doesn't know why. Since Sansa is reluctant about speaking of Jon, she incorrectly deduces that Sansa is aiming at Jon's throne. However, when Arya goes to see Bran about it, Bran reassures her and gives her something around Sansa's being to Jon what Catelyn was to Ned. Arya, deeply disturbed, decides not to take it literally (when she really should) and settles on Sansa and Jon teaming together to rule. They kill Littlefinger together (the show version is quite on point).  
> Sansa learns from a raven sent from a spy of Littlefinger (the spy being unaware that Littlefinger was dead) that Jon slept with Daenerys. To say she is unhappy is an understatement. However, before she can fully process it, they have a raven telling them about the wall and she has no choice but put her grief aside to prepare for the war.  
> Arya and Sam leave to join Jon and Daenerys. Sansa stays in Winterfell to deal with the logistics and bonds with Bran a bit over loosing their intended mate (he reveals one night that Meera was supposed to be his but that he had chosen to push her away rather than to see her die poisoned by Littlefinger, he says to Sansa that Jon will face a choice too but that choice hasn't been made yet). Sansa waits and starts corresponding with Davos. They become friends.
> 
> The balance achieved comes to an end when the battle of Dawn is won and Jon and Daenerys are back at Winterfell. Sansa thinks that Jon is in love with Daenerys and makes a scene during his coronation as King (in a very subtle, Sansa's way, I reassure you). Jon who was scheming to win the North independence, snaps and acts possessively of her in front of everyone. They leave the hall and Daenerys is worried for Sansa. Tyrion reassures her. Jon and Sansa mate. Happy ending!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, so here is the epilogue. It actually deals in a very elliptic way with the end of season 6 and season 7.   
>  The sequel will take place most probably around what would be season 8 and after.
> 
> Hope you'll enjoy the epilogue.

Brienne was still somewhat reeling from the confirmation of Jon Snow’s and Sansa Stark’s sin when she went up the stairs. As she took the steps two by two, she couldn’t help but feel guilty that she hadn’t tried harder to prevent the whole thing. Once already, she’d failed her duty to the young lady and now again. As she pushed the door to the wolf’s den, she noted the warm, sweet and curiously arousing smell and was surprised to realise that this was the scent of their shared heat. It was quite dissimilar to the rancy musk she’d smelled from the whores’ tents she’d seen on the battlefield. No, this was actually almost pleasing. However, all musings about differences between heats and normal bedding were cut as she saw Sansa Stark sitting in a tight ball at the center of her bed. Brienne’s eyes were immediately caught by Sansa’s red-rimmed and washed-out blue eyes. Sansa’s sorrow was heart-wrenching in its own right and she hurried to her side. As she made her way closer, she could make out some dark bruises and she winced. Had the bedding been rough? Once again, she felt to blame for not protecting her charge. She sighed heavily and asked as softly as possible:

 

“Did he…?” she didn’t know how to formulate the unspeakable and finally gestured defeatedly to the bruises on Sansa Stark’s skin.

 

Sansa looked bewildered for a second before lowering her eyes at her body. She then reached out for the sheets and covered. Her answer was swift and hard-cold with resentment:

 

“No! That was Ramsay.” she said, her eyes looking at the dying fire for a moment.

 

Brienne felt the answer like a blow to her chest. The bastard had held her for months before Sansa had finally escaped. How precisely could have he hidden the mistreatment of his wife to his people? Or did they know? Her stomach lurched at the idea that the whole household would have known and no one would have said anything. How could these men pretend they were lords and knights in their own right?

 

“I need to bathe.” said Sansa suddenly

 

“Do you want me to call for a maid or someone for hot water?” answered Brienne a bit taken aback.

 

“No, I can’t… They can’t... If their sense of smell is acute enough, they’ll know from the flight of stair alone. They can’t know.   _ Nobody _ can know.” replied Sansa, her eyes hard on the wall.

 

Brienne nodded, a bit shaken at how composed and fully in control of herself Sansa was. She started to turn about, knowing that there was some kind of cistern on the floor in case of fire and that she could take the water from there. As she was passing by the table on which lay a bounty of food, she was reminded of what Jon Snow had told her.  _ Take care of her. _ On an impulse, she said:

 

“You need to eat.”

 

Sansa shot her a look, something at once angry and sad, and Brienne knew then, that Jon had actually taken the time to tell her that himself.  _ At least, he’s not a terrible alpha _ , murmured something in her head, but she shook the thought.

 

When she’d brought the frigid water from the cistern, Sansa had quickly and efficiently cleaned herself up. Brienne had during that time gone down to bring more wood for the fire. She came back to a icy room, all windows open, all the linens and garments dropped into a basin with water and a bit of astringent smelling soap. Sansa, entirely dressed in her spare clothes, sat in front of the fire, her coat around her shoulders as she distractingly nibbled on a piece of bread. Brienne looked around a bit amazed at how the room had been expediently cleared of everything that would remind of what happened. It struck her then, that probably that wasn’t the first time that Sansa might have had to vent a room and clean some sheets from an experience she’d rather not be reminded of. A quick look at the young lady and she seemed lost in thoughts until she took a gulp of strong liquor. She grimaced as in pain and Brienne saw a cut on her lips.  _ Dear Gods… No! _

 

“My lady? Your lip, it’s cut… Did?” she asked Sansa, a panicked edge in her voice.

 

“Don’t worry, this is from a chapped lip..” cut Sansa, brusquely. She frowned and passed her hand on her face then, as if realising the rudeness of her tone. “I’m sorry, Brienne. It’s just… He was gentle, you know?” she added timidly, her eyes sad as they lingered on the fire.

 

“That wasn’t what I meant.” resumed Brienne, a bit irritated. “Your lip, it bled.” she started again.

 

Sansa whipped her head toward her then, her eyes huge in her face. She was quite a clever woman, Brienne thought. Sansa touched absently her lip as if realising suddenly the implication of her wound.

 

“I… I need to talk to Jon.” she said and departed in a brisk walk.

 

Brienne sighed heavily. If she was right, then there was much worse than just a shared heat between Jon Snow and Sansa Stark. And really, she didn’t know how they would be able to deal with such a thing. However, it seemed strange to her that such a small cut could have started the process of a mating bond between them. After all, for such a thing, a high compatibility would be needed, something that simply couldn’t happen between brother and sister. Her thoughts wandered to Jaime. Did he have the urge to mate with his sister? After so many years together, wouldn’t they have at least had the beginning of a bond if a small cut was enough to start the process? She quickly shook her head, not wanting to devote time to think on Jaime’s unnatural relationship with his sister. And yet, she didn’t seem to have the same revulsion for the idea that Sansa and Jon would be in the same position. She was still wondering about it all when she heard the door slam behind her.

 

She turned and there stood Sansa Stark, her eyes turbulent with a mix of emotion that were too conflicted to be deciphered. Brienne took a step back as Sansa passed in front of her and sat heavily back in her place on the fire. Her stance was rigid, stony with the need to control her emotions. Brienne took a step toward her and Sansa said, her eyes on the fire and her hand seizing back her gobelet of liquor.

 

“The point is moot. We’re never talking about his again.” her voice was emotionless from stringent rein on herself.

 

Brienne nodded, feeling a bit of relief. At least, there wasn’t that. Yet, she couldn't understand why Sansa would behave as such. She seemed stricken and furious in a way she hadn’t been before. Maybe it was the enormity of it that was settling on her. Or maybe… Brienne shook her head. It wouldn’t do to dwell on this. Yet, feeling that the apparent hardness of Sansa could crumble any moment, she sat next to her and said.

 

“Let’s drink and forget about his then.”

  
  


When Brienne and Davos reconvened that night, they agreed that Jon and Sansa had taken the best decision possible. The abnormality of what had happened was too much for ever being brought into conversation again.Surely, they both stated, Melisandre had twisted the laws of nature to bring the two siblings together. Fortunately, whatever had happened was probably the best that could have been wished for under the circumstances. And so, no one discussed the fateful night when Melisandre had been sent from Castle Black and had disappeared into the night. The following morning, there was a war meeting to discuss the retaking of Winterfell. Jon and Sansa seemed their respective selves, one poised and calculating, the other gruff and analytic. Yet, neither Davos nor Brienne could quite dismiss a shadow of a feeling that all was not quite there.

 

Brienne, when sent to the Riverlands to ask for the Blackfish support in the reconquest, had voiced her concerns about her safety and the lingering feeling that there was something not quite right. Sansa, when assuaging her doubts, had said that Jon was Jon, that he would protect her. Brienne, though, didn’t miss the pregnant between her first sentence and the next. The words “ _ He is my brother _ ” had been unsaid and Brienne was sure that there was more than shame for past events in the turn of Sansa’s face and the avoiding of her eyes. Once again, Brienne had thought about that bleeding lip and an uncomfortable feeling had nestled in her middle.

 

As for Davos, he couldn’t help but note the invisible wall between brother and sister. Their easy camaraderie was gone and if others thought the tension was born from the pressure of oncoming battle, Davos knew there was something else. Because, while Jon always kept a clear distance between him and her sister, he still managed to make sure to hover in her vicinity. For as much as he avoided his sibling gaze, there were also those quick timid but smoldering looks the young commander sent her when she wasn’t looking at him. Finally, what was most concerning was Jon’s reaction to any man who wanted to lay claim to the young lady. The first time Davos noticed it, was when they’d met Bolton. At the bastard’s declaration that he was looking forward to have his wife back in his bed, there had been a eerie stillness to Snow. No words had left his mouth but his eyes had followed the retreating back of the lord with a focus akin to a wolf for his prey. Then, he’d almost beaten to death the man during the battle, no soldier trying to get him away from the fallen foe in fear of becoming the focus of his rage. Those two times, Davos could have chalked it up to hatred for a man that had killed and tortured his family. Yet, soon after, the figure of Lord Baelish was followed with the same focused gaze the new King had once given Ramsay. He knew then, that leaving for Dragonstone was inevitable. He’d welcomed the journey even, knowing that the distance would probably put better to rest the memories between the two siblings. And it had. Despite Jon going rigid whenever Tyrion would mention Sansa - so much that the man had felt obligated to explain that the marriage had never been consummated at their first meeting, the beauty and fierceness of the Queen had seemed to crush to dust the forlorn and unnatural feelings Snow had for his sister. 

 

What a fool had he been, now reflected Davos. Because of the twists of fate were such that they seemed particularly intent into wounding the Starks to the core, as they were in march to fight against a dead dragon, a young maester and another sister had found them. They revealed that Jon Snow had never been Eddard’s son but another Stark’s. As Jon found out about his true parentage, entwining both the fire of a dragon and the winter of the direwolf, his true link to the silver haired woman he bedded at night, something died in him. For all could see afterwards, and Davos the first of them, that Jon Snow had shed a skin that night. But where all the others thought that from the loyal crow, a true dragon was reborn, whenever Davos looked into Jon’s eyes, he couldn’t help but feel that all that remained of Jon’s stripping to the bone was the cruelty and cunning of a famished wolf in winter.A wolf that would want, no doubt about it, lay claim to his mate as soon as he returned from battle to Winterfell.  



End file.
